The Iron Dream (39 page)

not be denied that it represents our fondest hope for world peace through world freedom.

Thus the mass appeal of this rather crudely written science-fantasy novel stands revealed as a unique combination of political wish-fulfillment fantasy, pathological fetishism and phallic obsession, and the fascination of watching a strange, morbid, and quite alien mind unselfconsciously displaying itself under the bizarre delusion that its most violent and perverse impulses, far from being causes for shame, are noble and uplifting principles righteously adhered to by the bulk of humanity.

Further, these diverse elements of visceral appeal tend to reinforce each other. The phallic fantasies imbue the unsophisticated reader with a sense of limitless force and potency, which makes the wish-fulfillment annihilation of Zind seem that much more plausible, thus enhancing the enjoyment of this political fancy. The identification of Zind with the Greater Soviet Union allows the unsophisticated reader to revel in the excessive violence without feelings of guilt. Too, the near-psychotic intensity of the violence allows the reader a catharsis, a momentary purging of his feelings of fear and hate toward the world Communist menace.

Finally, there is the total certainty which permeates the novel. Feric Jaggar is a leader utterly without doubts. He knows what must be done and how to do it, and he proceeds accordingly without a trace of error, misgiving, or remorse. Zind and the Dominators are the enemy of true humanity, therefore they are deserving of no mercy and any action taken against them is morally beyond reproach. In these dark times, who in his heart of hearts does not secretly pray for the emergence of such a leader?

Not only is Jaggar without doubts. Hitler himself writes in a manner which at least gives the impression that he, too, was totally convinced of everything he said and that any contrary views were utterly without foundation. For him, the military virtues, with their powerful overtones of phallic obsession, fetishism, and homoeroticism are simple, timeless absolutes, not to be questioned by writer or reader.

In these times when we are torn between our own civilized complexities and doubts and the need to confront an implacable foe not noticeably encumbered by excessive moral scruples, such an attitude, even coming from a 254

warped personality like Adolf Hitler, seems somehow perversely refreshing.

The Greater Soviet Union bestrides Eurasia like a drunken brute. Most of Africa is under its sway, and the South American republics are beginning to crumble. Only the great Japanese-American lake that is the Pacific stands as the final bastion of freedom in a world that seems destined to be inundated by the red tide. Our great Japanese ally has the time-hallowed traditions of Bushido to stiffen its resolve and imbue its people with a sense of mission and destiny, but we Americans seem hopelessly sunk in apathy and despair.

No doubt many of Hitler's readers must find it tempting to imagine what the emergence of a leader like Feric Jaggar could mean to America. Our great industrial resources would be channeled into producing armed forces the equal of anything on earth, our population would be galvanized into a state of patriotic resolve, our moral qualms would be held in abeyance for the duration of Ola-death struggle with the Greater Soviet Union.

Of course, such a man could gain power only in the extravagant fancies of a pathological science-fiction novel.

For Feric Jaggar is essentially a monster: a narcissistic psychopath with paranoid obsessions. His total self-assurance and certainty is based on a total lack of intro-spective self-knowledge. In a sense, such a human being would be all surface and no interior. He would be able to manipulate the surface of social reality by projecting his own pathologies upon it, but he would never be able to share in the inner communion of interpersonal relationships.

Such a creature could give a nation the iron leadership and sense of certainty to face a mortal crisis, but at what cost? Led by the likes of a Feric Jaggar, we might gain the world at the cost of our souls.

No, although the spectre of world Communist domination may cause the simpleminded to wish for a leader modeled on the hero of Lord of the Swastika, in an absolute sense we are fortunate that a monster like Feric Jaggar will forever remain confined to the pages of science fantasy, the fever dream of a neurotic science-fiction writer named Adolf Hitler.

—Homer Whipple, New York, N.Y., 1959